Page 25 of Daddy's Muse
I sat down on the seat across from him, curiosity getting the best of me.
“That’s so cool!” I beamed.
Bodin’s eyes glittered as he smiled and continued, “I would love to share more about my culture with you sometime, Colby.”
I stuttered, “R-really? Why?”
“I enjoy your company,” he answered, taking a sip of his coffee and watching me as if he were memorizing each minute detail.
I didn’t get that. I wasn’t interesting. I was the kind of guy people forgot about unless they needed help with their homework or wanted someone to laugh at. I wasn’t used to attention that felt likethis.
Eventually, he stood, sliding his coat back over his shoulders. I realized I hadn’t given him the check, but he beat me to it, already placing a twenty and a few small bills beneath his empty plate.
“Thanks for the pie,” he said, calm as ever.
I blinked. “Wait—you only had coffee and one slice. This is too much.”
He paused, halfway to the door, and looked back at me. “It’s not for the food.”
Then he left.
Just like that. The bell above the door jingled, and he was gone.
I stared down at the bills. The twenty was folded in half, perfectly crisp. No note. No contact info. Just the money.
I should’ve felt happy about the tip. I needed it—my last paycheck had mostly gone toward food and laundry detergent.
But instead of grateful, I felt… uneasy.
What did he mean,not for the food?
Why would someone like him want to talk to me?
I glanced out the diner window, but he was already gone. The rest of my shift passed in a blur. I wiped down counters, swept the floors, and did all the usual closing tasks. But the whole time,my mind kept going back to that smile, that stare, that soft “just the company.”
That heartstopping “little one.”
8
Bodin
I watched him through the feed on my phone—silent, grainy, infrared-filtered in the low dorm light, but perfect enough to see him curled up in bed with a stuffed raccoon pressed to his chest and the coat I’d given him months ago draped over him like a blanket.
His pacifier bobbed slightly as he sucked on it in his sleep.
Even now, even after watching for hours, I didn’t fully understand.
The first time I saw him like that—clad in soft, childish pajamas, eyes wide with innocent delight as he clutched crayons in one hand and colored a page of cartoon animals—I had thought he was… broken, honestly.
But that theory didn’t sit right the longer I watched.
It wasn’t something that needed fixing. It seemed more like a coping mechanism—a way to relax. He did his homework like a perfectionist, tutored other students with quiet competence, and managed his work schedule like clockwork. But when he was alone—when he thought the world had turned its back—something shifted.
Hechosethis.
At first, I was confused. Then curious. Now, I was obsessed.
I didn’tgetit fully yet, but I needed to.
